Wouldn't it be grand?
by Lovingly Insane
Summary: A hexology- Contains mainly Creek, Dip, and Molory molexgregory . Six old friends and old enemies surprisingly share a dorm room with each other. Little do they know each have an admirer...
1. Pip

**ONE- Pip **

"Oh, my." I tried to decipher the scribbles on the crumpled paper in my hand through the harsh darkness of the night. The letters were jumbling before my eyes, until they formed a few sentences.

_Phillip Pip Pirrup_

_South Park University_

_Dorm 3, Floor 6, Room 666_

666. Damien! My best friend was probably going to be there! This was going to be a good year.

I walked slowly up the pathway, finding my way into the school and scurrying to room 666. When I found it, I took out the little key ring from my pocket. Keys have never been my specialty. I fumbled with it for a while, trying to find the key ring. Dear god...

"_BOOM." _The door opened, and my best friend himself stood there.

"Damien!" I chirped, grinning. Damien stared at me, his eyes burning with annoyance.

"Are you just going to stand there?" I watched as huffed, glared again, and sauntered back to his seat on the couch. He was playing with fire; by fire, I mean shaping the flames that shot out of his fingertips.

"So…" I asked, setting by bags at the doorway and prancing into the kitchen. "Who else is rooming with-?"

Damien was suddenly in front of me, his hand on my shirt collar. He lifted me up against the wall. "Listen here, dickhead. I am not the fucking welcome wagon. I don't like happiness, I don't like mortals, and I sure as hell don't like you."

"Oh." I could feel my face fall. Damien studied me, his eyes still glowing. The irises had gone bright red, burning into my own baby blue ones. I brightened up immediately, not letting his anger get to me. "Righto." I started unloaded some dishes into the cabinets. There were six ceramic plates, twelve plastic glasses, a few teacups and serving spoons. I figured I'd be the only teacup user, seeing as though South Park seemed to despise anyone not from Colorado, and that included tea drinkers. I only brought three, so dish washing would add up to-

"AUGH!" I spun around, staring wide-eyed at the door. A jittery, spazzy blonde kid stood there, hunched over and shaking at an insane speed.

"It's alright, Tweekers," I heard a low voice say. A boy with a blue hat walked in behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. I smiled slightly as 'Tweekers' instantly calmed under the other's touch. They stared into each other's eyes and a slight smile crossed 'Tweeker's' features. I grinned. If that wasn't love, I didn't know what was.

"H-hi," stuttered the nervous kid, now looking in my direction. "Nnngh- I'm T-tweek." That would explain the strange nickname.

"Craig," said the dark, taller one.

"Oh, jolly good to meet you, jolly good indeed," I yelped, words flying out a mile per minute. I was slightly worried, and I'm a nervous talker. "I'm frightfully glad that you're rooming with me, friends, I can't imagine rooming with anyone less pleasant-"

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Damien yelled. I recoiled.

"He's a teensy bit cranky today, chaps, so very sorry."

"Pip, I swear to my father I will rip your fucking head off and shove it up your-"

"AUGGH!" Tweek shrieked, knotting his long, pale hands in his disheveled blonde hair. Craig kissed his neck, settling him down. He looked angrily at Damien, flipping him off, and led Tweek to the bedrooms. "No! I hate college dorms. Why are we here, Craig? I want to go- eerk- home!"

"It's okay, Tweekers."

"B-but the underpants gnomes will get me if I'm not at home my gnome repellant is at home in my drawer next to my oh god my coffee is probably getting cold I left my coffee machine on oh fuck that's a waste of coffee and my mom's gonna kill me and I-"

"Tweek!" Craig went in the room with the boy, shut the door, and came out less than five minutes later. He stormed angrily over to Damien and I. "You listen to me, assholes. Tweek is really freaking out right now and I hate when that happens. I swear to god if you yell stupid fucking stuff around him again, _I _will personally kick your asses. Got it?"

I nodded ferociously. Damien just stared, glowering.

"Oh, and by the way. If either of you are homophobic, get the fuck out." With that, he spun around and joined Tweek in the dorm. I sighed, putting on a fresh pot of coffee. Tweek had said a lot about it, so I figured he liked it. I sat quietly on the bar stool, playing with my bow tie. What lovely roommates I had so far. They were all slightly angry, though. Suddenly, the door boomed open.

"Vhat ze fuck es thees sheet?" yelled a gruff voice. I turned and saw Christophe DeLorne, better known as 'Ze Mole'. He whipped a bag, covered in mud and bloodstains, out next to the door. "I 'ave to room vith ze ass 'ole whose fa'zer kept me een 'ell and ze filthy Briteesh beetch?" He took a long drag of his cigarette, staring disgustedly in my direction. Well. He wore a dark green thermal with the sleeves rolled, black fingerless gloves, clunky black combat boots, and wore a huge, dirty shovel in a pouch on his back. His hair was dirty and brown, the cigarette still dangling on his lip. Soon enough, a well-dressed boy followed, wearing an orange button up and black dress pants; his blonde hair, much like mine, was well groomed and styled.

"Careful what you say about Brits, Mole," He said, a dangerous look in his large brown eyes. Christophe scoffed, puffing on his cigarette again.

"Zat keed ez ze beetchy von, zo. Zere ees a difference."

"Sure."

"Euk." Gregory and Mole walked to their rooms together. I decided it was time to pick a room, but, seeing as everyone else had seemingly claimed theirs, I received the one next to the elevator. Oh well; at least it was heated.


	2. Damien

**TWO- Damien**

I hate Pip, I honestly, honestly do. Trust me on that. But, there is _something _about him that intrigues me. Growing up in hell gives you some issues, according to every full mortal being I've met, but whatever. I think I'm fine, thank you. I just hate people. Oh, about Pip- he's too nice. I think that's the reason he bugs the living hell out of me. He never stops smiling, complimenting, or acting like he absolutely loves every-fucking-thing on the planet.

_It drives me INSANE._

Everyone in hell, where I was raised, hated everyone else. That's my father's doing, really, but, y'know, love is overrated. Love is a waste of time, really. That's why I am how I am, and that's why I hate Pip more every time I look at him. That stupid, stupid, smile. That adorable little laugh. His cute little dimples-

Oh, fuck. I should shut up now.

Anyways, I watched the many assholes I room with walk down to their rooms. I slowly levitated to mine, not feeling like walking at the moment. Ugh, the whole living room smelled of flowers and happiness. It kind of burned my nostrils, to be completely honest. I sighed heavily and blasted open my door. The bed is uncomfortable, much too fluffy, but I was tired. It was eleven PM already. I must've been sitting out there thinking for a long time. I closed my eyes and let out a sharp groan. It was hot in this stupid dorm. I took off my black tee and threw it by my laundry bin. The cold night air whirled through the open window, lulling my eyes closed. It felt as if I blinked, but when I awoke, four hours had gone by. I groaned, rubbing my eyes. I sat up and clasped my hands around my knees. All I could think of was Pip, to be completely honest.

Fifth grade. I was the only kid at the lunch table. Pip sat next to me, even though I screamed at him the whole time and had previously set him on fire.

Seventh grade. Pip had become my best friend. I could tolerate him then; he wasn't so girly then.

Eighth grade. I realized I was gay. I moved to Earth with my birth Ma. I didn't tell Pip, but he knew something was wrong (perceptive little fucker) and got closer to me.

Ninth grade. I tried to get rid of Pip (annoyed me too much) but he was only nicer.

Eleventh grade. I was dumped by my first boyfriend, whom I thought I had maybe even loved, and went to the park to sulk. Pip came and comforted me. It was the only time I actually felt bad about something.

Twelfth grade. I started to like Pip as a little more than a friend and rid myself of him. I couldn't take that.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I was so pissed at myself for letting this happen. Love was overrated. Love was overrated. Love was overrated…I punched the wall instead of setting it on fire like usual. Fire didn't relieve pain. Fire just aggravated it more. When I punched the wall, my anger seemed to flow out of me…and into my fist. I was now gaping at a giant fist-shaped hole and looking out at the street below. Oh, mother fucking _shit._

"Damien?" A soft voice echoed through my doorway. The fuck? Pip? I snapped my head around, still heavily panting. A very sleepy Pip with baggy silk pajamas, the color of my eyes, and a long, thin ponytail holding his curls from his face stood there, rubbing his light blue eyes. Oh, fuck, he was going to see the- "Oh, Damien, what happened?"

"I-.." I stopped and fell to the ground, wrapping my arms around my calves and burying my face in my black jean-clad knees. I heard Pip's light footsteps rush towards me.

"This isn't like you, Damien, my old friend. What ever is wrong?"

Oh _Satan, _there's that damned British dialect again. I swear, Pip is the only human being that can annoy the shit out of me and be adorable at the same time.

"I…can't…FUCK!" I screech, pounding the floor. I knew I looked like a two year old, but I didn't care.

"Damien?" His breath was at my ear; too close, too close. I shiver and crack open my eyes, staring at him. His tiny, almost invisible scatter of freckles shine in the early-morning moonlight, making him look as pale as sheet.

"Fuck," I breathed, because he was beautiful. He wasn't real. He could be. I lifted a finger to his cheek and made myself _believe in something. _I kissed him fiercely. At first he was stiff against my touch, surprised beyond belief, I assumed, but he relaxed. I pulled away, feeling my anger melt away as he smiled up at me.


	3. Gregory

**THREE- Gregory**

_Crunch! _

I listened to the delicious sound of a fist crushing through layers of plaster, old wallpaper, and brick. Damien, the son of Satan, had punched the wall. This sound was all too familiar to me. Christophe could do similar, but he'd be screaming in pain (and in French) from the brick. I shrugged, taking my attention from the demon and focusing again on the notebook that sat on my lap. I resumed from where I had left off. Plans, they were, fierce and dangerous ones. They were for Christophe. He was still with La Resistance, staying with it from his childhood, and I was sort of his boss. I was scheduling another mission, another plan, another near-death trap for him to carry out. He would be against guard dogs again, so this mission had to be planned a month in advance. He didn't want to risk his death as much as he had when we were kids.

I didn't want him risking death at all.

The truth? I'd be happy if he quit. I'd be happy if he'd just settle down, get a normal, nonviolent job, and stay at home…maybe fall in love….have a family…

I knew that first part would never happen. Without La Resistance, Christophe was no one. He became aimlessly violent to everyone, friend or foe, fighting against everything. He became Ze Mole and shed the basic humanity the persona of Christophe DeLorne had given him. It was almost like multiple personalities, though he was still the same person. Mole was a nickname I had given him, but only in fun. When he truly became Ze Mole…well…let's just say you wouldn't want to be near him for a while.

Sure, the first part would never come true, but the second part? I still couldn't tell. Unfortunately, I was in love with Christophe; I fell for him the day we met. He's so…brutal. Christophe is irrational, violent, merciless, evil, homicidal, French, and will give you hell about everything you do. Then again, he's loyal, confident, unique, his own person, different, loving, and trustworthy. Sometimes you have to take the bad with the good. It's all worth it. I just wish one of his good things was 'loves Gregory,' but, as of right now, I can't say that's true.

I realized I was in a thinking daze. I began writing and sketching again.

_The gates are electric…use shovel, dig hole, crawl under…cut the wire to the electricity from the panel near the fifth bush on your right, go in through top right window, two stories up…_

I fell into a continuous roll of write, sketch, label, write, sketch, label. The pencil moved without any thought from me; it was easy, too easy, to remember Mole's tactics. I'd shadowed him on missions twice, the first time to study him, and the second time to simply watch him: the taught, tan, mud-covered skin on his arms pulling tightly over his hard biceps as he'd dig, the nimble, unexpected lightness of his footsteps while on enemy ground, his unusual silence. He never failed to appall me when he worked. I think I truly realized my unconditional love on the second trip, when I began noticing the little things about him.

He was always on the run.

I think that's why he couldn't settle down; he simply didn't know how.

I sighed and set my pen down on my knee. The plan was complete; he would do it perfectly, no doubt. I curled up in my bed, listening intently to the drama next door. _"Damien?" _I listened to the soft voice echo. It was that girly British kid, Pip. I heard them converse, and a body fall to the floor. Probably from a standing position, from the thud's obviously heaviness in one small area. I knew my way around falls, deaths, and bodies. Why else would Mole be working for me?

"Gregory!" My door popped open. I turned and saw none other than Christophe walk in and sit patiently on the floor. I raised an eyebrow, staring into his deep brown eyes.

"What?"

"I 'eard ze fight going on next door. I figured 'ou could 'ear it better from 'our room."

"Oh. It sounds like the demon kid punched through the wall."

"Really?" Christophe crept closer to me, crawling up on the bed. He sat next to me, his eyes searching mine as I told him the story. "And…zen vhat happened?"

"The…" I breathed. He was slowly getting closer to me, his thick eyelashes fanning out slowly every time he blinked. "The British kid…walked in. They started talking…"

"About?" I was backing up as he got closer now, leaning a bit.

"I…dunno…"

"Was eet…about zis?" I was now laying on my back, Christophe hovering above me on his hands and knees.

"N-no, what? I-I don't-" His lips softly slammed onto mine. I was shocked, my body stiff. I slowly let myself go, feeling my hands curl around his neck. He stroked my cheekbone and trailed his finger down my neck. I lifted myself to a sitting position until I was sitting on his lap. He was shirtless, I realized, his tan skin glowing under the warm moonlight of the bedroom. My hands tangled in his choppy brown hair. I sighed against his lips and slowly pulled away.

"Christophe?" I said, the uncertainty in my voice making it a question. "What are you-?"

"Shut zee fuck up," he laughed, kissing me softly again. "Vhat does eet look like I'm doing?"

"I-…you like me?" I was confused, hopelessly so, but god, did he look hot. His eyes, smoldering like melted chocolate, stung with mischief.

"No, beetch, I'm kissing 'ou for no reason." He rolled his eyes. "Of course. I always 'ave…" He leaned down and kissed me again. I smirked and bit his bottom lip, causing him to moan into my mouth. He pulled away and smirked. "Kinky?"

"What'd you expect, bitch?"

"…Touché."

I laughed as he kissed me again with a grin on his lips.


	4. Craig

**FOUR- Craig **

I opened my eyes. Sunlight shone through the curtains that were draped across the window of my room. As I got used to my surroundings, I took notice of a warm body buried into my side; I glanced down to see Tweek, humming softly in his sleep. I smirked and kissed the boy's head, watching his eyes pop open and glance up at me.

"G'morning, Craig," he whispered as I kissed his forehead again. We got up and got ready; we were going to start unpacking today, since classes began next week. We walked out to the living room silently, though Tweek was whimpering softly at the lack of coffee in his system. I noticed the machine was already on and warmed up, which was strange. The annoyingly happy British asshole was sitting at the counter with a teacup in between his fingers.

"Good day, friends, oh, good day indeed! How are you today?" His voice was loud, and Tweek screeched, freshly brewed coffee staining his shirt. I glared at Pip. I almost yelled, but since he turned the coffee maker on for Tweekers I'll give him a break. Brat.

"C-craig?" I looked down at my frazzled boyfriend.

"Yeah?"

"Relax." _Well_ now. _That _wasn't something you heard Tweek Tweak say, well, ever. I sighed and unclenched my fists, grabbing a cup of coffee myself and dumping in a few sugar packets. Tweek grinned, and with an eye twitch, took a seat next to Pip.

"You're Tweek, right? Oh, it's wonderful to actually be acquainted with you, my friend, very wonderful. Now, I'd like to ask you about your fabulous coffee drink, how is it that grounds are determined to be-" I sighed, tuning him out. Tweek was happy to discuss his life juice and I was fine with having a smoke outside. I caught his eye, silently pointing to the balcony doors, and he twitched and nodded in recognition. I lit up outside, taking a deep puff, and relaxed. I was soon joined by a gruff Christophe. He too lit up and sat as far from me as possible.

"'Morning," I mumbled, receiving a grunt in response. After a few minutes of silence, I decided to make pleasant antisocial conversation with the guy who hated people as much as I did, and mumbled, "So, you're doing it with the not-so-annoying blonde Brit?"

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "I suppose. Not in zos terms, but…yes. 'Ow did 'ou know?"

"I may be terrible with people, but I know my way around them."

He nodded, taking a long drag. "You are vith ze spazz?" I nodded. He closed his eyes and lit another cigarette, inhaling deeply before looking over to me. "I cannot tell you 'ow much I hate zis situation, Tucker."

"…Tweek and I dating?"

"_Non, non, _ze fact zat I 'ave to room vith all of you." He glared, sighed, and looked away.

"The Brit made you do it?"

"_Non. _It is…a plan for our company."

"La Resistance?" He looked shocked.

"'Ow did 'ou-?"

"I was there when we were kids, dude. I remember."

"Craig?" The patio door had opened, and Tweek stood there, shaking.

"Hey." He sat next to me and lit up, leaning against my chest as he smoked. After a few more minutes in silence, we walked back inside and started to unpack.

.

"Let's plug your coffee machine in over there," I said, and Tweek nodded. He'd brought one for his room, my room, and the living room, as well as the one that we already had in the kitchen. _You could never have too much coffee, _he'd told me, _and it's better to be safe than sorry._ We had finished my room already. It was boring. Nice and boring. His was more than boring; it was _safe_. We'd triple locked the window, door, and taped over every visible vent.

"No g-gnomes?"

I hugged him and kissed the top of his wild blonde hair. "No gnomes." I felt his arms wrap around me and his eyes close.

"Thanks, Craig."

"For what?"

"For keeping me safe."


End file.
